I Feel Fine Enough, I Guess
by i-effed-it-all-up
Summary: The road to recovery for Jane will be long and difficult. Luckily, Maura is there for her. Post-season 1 finale. Told in short snippets.
1. Please

**I Feel Fine **

**Chapter 1**

It was safe to say Maura Isles preferred working on dead people to the alternative, especially when the alternative was her best friend.

Jane Rizzoli was always the hero, whether she was storming into the basement of a serial killer or tackling a 200-pound perp. It was a thing she prided herself on, and Maura could understand that. But this… this was a thing she would never comprehend. The way Jane's eyes went cold, the way her jaw set firmly in determination. The way she grabbed Bobby's gun and pointed it at her own gut, curling around it as if steeling herself for the blow.

The way she pulled the trigger. The way she and Bobby were knocked off their feet by the force of the shot.

Maura just didn't get it.

She still didn't get it even as she pressed two hands to Jane's bleeding stomach, murmuring things that she was positive weren't actually words as she tried to quiet a trembling Jane.

"It hurts it hurts it _hurts…._"

_Then why on Earth did you do it?_ The thought intruded, louder than all others, and Maura had to clamp her jaw shut to keep it from verbalizing itself and spilling forth. She didn't need to be chastising Jane now, only needed to be helping her.

"Jesus, kiddo," murmured Korsak's rough voice as he knelt beside Maura. Taking off his jacket, the large detective draped it over the now violently shaking Jane.

"She's going into shock," said Maura, and she herself trembled violently – but with fear. She was so, so scared for Jane….

"That's a lotta blood," came Frost's weak voice from behind her.

"N…N'pukin', Fffrost…" The sentence was barely understandable, but Korsak let out a chuckle and Frost smiled, crouching down and squeezing his partner's ankle gently. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Jane gave a lopsided grin, but it faded quickly as she squirmed in pain, a tiny hurt sound escaping her throat.

"Try to lie still," Maura said gently.

"Hurts t-to breathe…" gasped Jane, and a new whine of panic started in Maura's head. _Up… the bullet traveled up… oh God, it hit her lung…_

Her fears were confirmed when Jane coughed violently and a hairline trickle of blood snaked down her lip. The Rizzoli's breathing rattled wetly in her chest, and Maura knew blood was getting into her lung.

"Oh God, okay Jane, I'm going to turn you on your side, okay?" Jane coughed again and nodded. Maura gently put a hand under Jane's shoulder and turned her, as carefully as possible, onto her side. Despite her efforts, Jane moaned, eyes glazed with pain, and more coughs wracked her body.

"I know, I know. It's okay," Maura soothed, heart breaking. This was not the Jane she was used to seeing. She was used to a tough, brassy, smart-ass Jane, not this trembling, weak and in pain Jane.

But, as it seemed, Jane and pain went hand-in-hand.

When the EMT's arrived it took two of them to pull Maura off of a now unconscious Jane. "Ma'am," they cried, "ma'am, it's okay, you can let go now, we'll take it from here." It took several shouts of her name to break through the haze, through the whine of panic invading her mind and drowning out all rational thought – a crippling condition for Maura Isles.

Maura was not one for religion – science was more of a religion for her than anything else. But, as she rode in Korsak's car to the hospital (they wouldn't let her ride in the ambulance), she found herself praying hard.

_Please don't let her die. Oh, God, please._


	2. Occipital Spatulas and Their Flaws

**Chapter 2**

It was an ungodly number of hours, three surgeries and one "family only" visit later that Maura was finally allowed to see Jane. The ME stood just outside the door, unsure of what would greet her when she entered.

"She was askin' for ya," said Angela, offering a comforting smile. Maura struggled to smile back, but succeeded only in a slight lip-tremble that probably looked absolutely ridiculous, but at that particular moment the blond didn't care. All she cared about was Jane.

And when she entered the room, that was what she found.

"The anesthesia just wore off; the doctor says she won't really remember this," Angela told her, and then the elder Rizzoli was gone, probably in search of fresh clothes and a cup of coffee.

A drowsy looking Jane attempted to grin at Maura, but really only managed to get half of her mouth to cooperate. Her eyes were glazed, lids at half-mast, and Maura knew that whatever drugs they had Jane on, they were strong. For that she was grateful as images of the detective writhing in pain flashed through her mind.

"Hey," Maura said in a false-eager voice.

"Hi there," slurred Jane, her voice no louder than a murmur, but not quite a whisper.

"How are you feeling?" Maura took a seat beside the hospital bed and laid a hand on one of Jane's; the dark haired detective gave no indication that she noticed or even felt the gesture.

"Like they…." Jane paused, and looked mildly frustrated at her momentary inability to form coherent sentences. "They've got me on… on some pretty good stuff."

In retrospect, Maura would never be able to explain what happened next. An irrational, uncontainable bubble of laughter burst from within her. She hiccupped and guffawed until, quite suddenly, she was sobbing.

Jane just sat quietly – it was possible she wasn't even aware anything unusual was transpiring – and let Maura cry into her crisp white sheets, brushing off the ME's apologies ("They're…. not even my sheets. Go'head 'n stain 'em.")

When Maura's episode, for the most part, appeared to be finished, she heaved a great sigh and smiled a watery smile at Jane. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me."

Jane furrowed her brow at the blonde for a moment before declaring "I think your…occipital spatula is broken."

This started a fresh new wave of hysterical laughter and tears.


	3. It Rained and Rained

**Chapter 3**

It was to a strange sound coming from the guest room that Maura awoke. It took her a moment to remember that she wasn't alone in the house.

Jane had just been released from the hospital the day before, with Maura's promise to take care of her and Jane's (insincere) promise not to overdo it. The ride to Maura's house had been emotionally draining – every bump she hit, no matter how slow she drove, caused Jane a surprising amount of discomfort, causing the detective's whole body to go rigid. Maura murmured "Sorry, sorry," under her breath every time the car lurched slightly. By the time they got to their destination, both women were in tears.

And actually getting _into _the house had been worse.

"Jane, please, there's no shame in accepting help," the ME had begged, arms outstretched.

"_No_," snarled Jane, voice tight and hoarse, as she struggled to lower herself from the passenger seat without throwing up. She got herself out of the car, but had to stand completely still, white-faced and sweating, for several minutes while she waited for the radiating pain to dissipate. Maura had been positive Jane would be sick then, but the detective steeled herself against the nausea and, exhausted, allowed Maura to support most of her weight and lead her into the house.

By the time they had gone to bed, both women were too exhausted to stay awake long. Jane had gone to the guest room and fallen asleep immediately, curled around a pillow.

It was the sound of Jane whimpering from that room that had Maura awake now. The ME swiftly got out of bed and made her way to Jane's room, heart sinking at every choked sound getting louder with each step. The sounds were occasionally drowned out by the rain pounding relentlessly outside.

"Jane?" She eased the door open and peered in; Jane's back was to her, the detective curled on her good side, shoulders hunched. Maura thought Jane had never looked so small.

"Janie?" she called again after not having received an answer; the pet name the Rizzolis used slipping out naturally. Jane merely whimpered again, whole body trembling.

When Maura moved around the bed to peer at Jane's face, her heart broke.

The detective was still sleeping, even as moans rumbled deep in her chest and tears stained her cheeks.

Jane was crying in her sleep.

"Oh, Jane. Jane, wake up. Shh, shh…" Maura struggled to wake her friend, gently rubbing Jane's back and murmuring soothing things. After a moment, Jane shuddered as she became conscious of the pain she was in. Her eyes, red and swollen from tears, slid open with a small amount of effort.

"Were you having a nightmare? You were crying."

"Mm," was all Jane managed at first, and then, "No…. hurts…."

"What hurts?"

"Everything…. Hands…. Chest… Stomach…" Jane's voice rose higher in pitch and she choked on a sob.

Maura was sure her heart was cracking in a million places. Jane's discomfort was clearly being caused by the weather. "I'm sorry," she murmured sadly, "there's still two hours before you can safely take your medication again." Jane simply shrugged and whispered a quiet "S'okay.'

Jane was so pale and so sick-looking that Maura could not stand to leave her alone and in so much pain. And so, being as gentle as possible, she climbed into the bed behind Jane, pressing as close to the brunette's back without pushing against her exit wound. She then reached up to stroke Jane's dark hair, meditatively, soothingly, and hearing sniffles from Jane, murmured "It's okay. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you to take your medication when it's time. Shhh…"

Jane's breathing eventually slowed and evened out until she was breathing deeply in the way a sleeping person often did. Maura fell asleep with her hand in Jane's hair.


	4. State of Undress

**Chapter 4**

"Jane, I really don't think this is a good idea…."

Jane sighed in irritation. "Maura, my hair feels like a huge grease ball. I desperately need this shower. Besides, I can walk around by myself now. I'll be fine, I can handle it."

Maura continued to look unsure.

"Seriously, Maura," groaned Jane, "I got this."

The ME closed her eyes and smiled. "All right, fine. But if you're in there for more than an hour I'm coming in after you."

Jane grinned as if Maura had just agreed to call all red-ish brown stains blood. "Sure thing, doc."

Maura settled in to read some documents while Jane went into the bathroom, but she couldn't concentrate. The detective worried her. Jane hadn't been getting much sleep recently – Maura could tell by the way she hunched her shoulders and seemed extra cranky, the way she usually did when she suffered from nightmares. She also appeared to be pushing herself extra hard, both in physical therapy and in everyday life, such as this very situation, which Maura still didn't agree with. What if Jane pulled out stitches trying to wash her hair? What if she fell?

Just as Maura was thinking that perhaps she was just overly worried, she heard the detective's voice calling her name from the bathroom, and fear claimed her heart for its own.

Maura was on her feet in an instant, and at the bathroom door in the next. "Jane?" she called. "Jane, I'm coming in."

She found the detective sitting on the floor of the tub, looking miserable. She had only a soaking towel covering her.

"I got in fine, but washing my hair really, really hurt and now I… Now I can't get back out." Jane looked away, shamed.

"Oh, Jane," murmured Maura. "How long have you been in here?"

"I dunno…. A while…." Jane looked frustrated. "Didn't wanna ask for help."

"All right," soothed Maura. "I'm going to try and lift you out, okay?"

"'Kay," mumbled Jane, sounding like a saddened child. After about 10 minutes of trying to figure out just how to lift Jane without hurting her, Maura secured her elbows under Jane's arms and heaved. Jane moaned, and Maura tried to be gentler, but the detective's legs slid out and hit the ground hard, the jolt to the rest of her body causing all of Jane's muscles to go rigid.

"Okay, all right… there we go…." grunted Maura as both she and Jane lowered to the bathroom floor. Maura grabbed the other towel from the floor and draped that around Jane's shoulders as well, further covering her trembling form.

Jane was known for being stoic and brave. She did not cry, even when she was lying on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound. Even when they'd had that first hellish trip home from the hospital, Jane had only allowed a few tears and sniffles to escape before her serious and tough "detective face" took over once more. It was only when she'd been sleeping and in a great deal of pain that she'd actually allowed herself the weakness. So when she quite suddenly burst into tears, right there on the bathroom floor, Maura was startled and just a little bit alarmed.

"Jane," came the soft utterance, low with empathy. Maura's hand reached out for Jane's shoulder.

"I feel so dumb," spluttered Jane. "A-and useless. God, I'm such a crybaby!" She pressed the scarred sole of her hand to her eye, swiping at her tears in a very childlike way that tore at Maura's heart.

Maura pursed her lips and tried not to sob herself. "Jane, you're hurt. You're not dumb, or useless – you've saved more people than I've had on my table, and that's significant. And you're certainly not a crybaby. In fact, your emotional state is quite normal after the trauma you went through-"

"Maybe," interrupted Jane with a sniffle and an attempted half-smile, "maybe we should… save the heart-to-heart and Googlemouth for when I'm fully clothed?"

Maura glanced down at Jane's current state of undress and sputtered out a laugh, whilst Jane let out a half-sob half-giggle.

"I'll go get you some clothes," Maura declared, giving Jane's shoulder another comforting rub as she stood. Jane gave a watery smile back. The ME suddenly knew what had caused Jane's recent distress, could see in her eyes that something else besides her gunshot wound needed healing; her pride.


	5. Deductive Skills

**Chapter 5  
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Something wasn't right.

Jane Rizzoli was a detective, and so it was safe to presume her deductive skills were quite excellent. Also, her gut never failed her. So when she looked at Maura and her stomach sank, she knew something was off.

She just couldn't figure out what, exactly, the problem was.

Maura was dressed as impeccably as ever, wearing some form of fitted designer dress and a pair of shoes that on their own probably cost more than Jane's entire wardrobe combined. Her hair was coiffed, curled, and polished looking, but somehow it appeared effortless as well. She wore foundation and a touch of lip gloss, but that was all the makeup that touched her skin, because that was all she needed. All in all, Maura Isles looked like she woke up everyday perfectly arranged.

But she wasn't. Perfectly arranged, that is – at least, not on the inside. Jane could tell. She knew Maura. Something was off in her smile. Jane was no poet, and she wasn't so great with emotions, either – but when she saw that smile, or poor excuse for one, the word that came to mind was _cracked. _

Maura was cracked, whether she'd like to admit it or not.

And Jane was going to get to the bottom of it. She was, after all, Detective Rizzoli.

And…. Well, sure, her specialty was homicide, but… she could do emotions, too, right?

Right.

So she approached Maura with an abrasive "All right, Maur. Spill."

Granted, this most likely _wasn't _the best way to go about things, but, as previously stated, Jane Rizzoli didn't do emotions.

So Maura, startled, looked up with a confused "Pardon?"

Jane dragged her feet slowly across the plush carpet, gingerly shuffling her way to the couch while trying to lift her feet as little as possible. Normal steps still jolted painfully.

When Jane settled herself carefully next to Maura, letting out a small grunt of vague discomfort, she said "Something's bothering you. Don't try lying, I've got you pegged. You try lookin' all…. _Maura-y_, but I can tell somethin's not right."

"Oh?" inquired Maura, looking vaguely amused. "Are you telling me my… as you said, _Maura-y_, façade has no effect on you?"

Jane wasn't sure what façade meant. Damn Maura and her Googlemouth. "Um… yea?" she ventured, unsure.

Maura smiled. There it was again. The crack in her…. What was it? Façade? That smile was a fake and they both knew it. It hurt Jane's heart a bit.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Jane. I'm perfectly okay."

"How are you saying that without, I dunno, fainting or something?"

Maura continued looking amused. "Because I'm not lying. Really, I'm okay."

And maybe she was. Maybe Jane was wrong. Maybe Maura was totally fine, and it was her gut that was lying to her.

(She doubted it.)

Later that evening, Maura retired early because she'd "stayed up all night watching a documentary on the history of Christ."

"You party animal," was Jane's response. This earned her a nice slap to the bicep.

"Ow! Hey, gunshot wound here!"

Maura's eyes flickered with something Jane didn't recognize – something unpleasant – but it was gone before she could decipher it, and Maura was smiling amusedly.

"I don't recall you being shot in the bicep, Detective."

"Close enough," grumbled Jane. Maura chuckled, then told the detective that if she needed anything, if she felt any pain or felt sick, to come wake the ME. immediately. However, that is the abridged version. Maura's version was much more long-winded.

"Yea yea, Doc. Go to bed," said Jane with a fond grin.

Not long after, Jane felt the dull throb start up in her side that was usually the precursor to violent back spasms and immense pain due to the muscle damage caused. She was loathe to wake Maura for medication, but she didn't know how much to take, and she didn't really feel like overdosing on that particular evening. So, taking the bottle of meds with her, Jane shuffled to Maura's bedroom.

"Jane?" she heard when she was a few feet from the cracked open door.

"Yea, it's me," Jane murmured. "Listen, sorry, I-"

"Jane, no…."

"I… What?" Maura sounded scared, and Jane wasn't sure what to make of this, so she hurried to the door and pushed it the rest of the way open. Instead of a sitting up, concerned Maura like she was expecting, Jane found instead the sleeping, trembling form of a dreaming Maura. Tears streamed down the M.E.'s face.

Jane inched her way to Maura's grand bed. "Maura?" she inquired gently, softly.

"Please don't leave… me… Jane…. Scared…. Blood…"

"Ah, geez…" moaned Jane as she tripped over Bass, who was relaxing casually next to Maura's bed. Pain shot through her as she growled, "Thanks a lot, dumb turtle…."

Maura shifted, but didn't wake. Jane, one arm now wrapped around her painfully radiating middle, approached the bed. Setting the bottle down, she used her now free hand to grab Maura's shoulder. "Maura? Maur, wake up."

There was no scream, no jackknifing straight up in her bed, no violent reaction at all. Maura simply gave a small twitch and inhaled sharply through her nose, eyes open and clear in a mere second.

"Jane? What's-" Then, she seemed to notice Jane's concerned look, seemed to feel the tears on her own face. One manicured hand came up to wipe her wet face. "Oh-oh my.. it seems my Maura-y mask has fallen." She gave a watery chuckle.

"It would seem so. Do you wanna talk about it _now, _you dirty liar?" Jane teased lightly, sitting carefully at the foot of the bed.

"I suppose I have no choice, do I?"

Jane considered. "Mmmm…. Yea, not really."

There was a pause in which Maura looked down at the piece of thread she was currently pulling from her duvet. Jane waited patiently, attempting to study her friend's face, which was currently awash in shadows. Neither one had bothered with the lights.

"I was so _scared, _Jane!"

This pronouncement, along with the heavy sobs that proceeded it, took Jane by surprise. Maura…. Well, Maura was a cyborg. She never really showed much emotion – especially not in a display such as this.

"Whoa, hey," Jane said softly, sympathetically. Her arms automatically reached out to wrap around her friend. Even though the motion required her to lean and stretch her ab and back muscles, she figured this was worth it and ignored the pain.

"I – I thought you were going to die Jane. Right there in front of me! Your blood was everywhere. Did you know? It was everywhere, on my hands, my clothes, the ground, _you…"_

"Shh," Jane murmured, rocking Maura slowly. The pain intensified, and again she denied it. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…."

After her crying had subsided somewhat, Maura hiccupped between another sob and a laugh. "I suppose it's silly of me, to still have fears about it when it's over."

"Nah, it isn't silly. Nothing you do is silly. Well, except for that Googlemouth thing…." At that moment, her back seized and the end of her sentence became garbled, sounding more like "G-hooglem'thing".

"Jane?"

"Yea…. That's kinda why I'm here," Jane groaned as Maura inspected her wounds. Jane directed her gaze to the meds sitting on the bedside table. "I don't know how much to take."

Maura, in a panic, quickly dumped two pills into her open palm, and Jane swallowed them dry. Unfortunately, because they were so strong, the consequential drowsiness hit Jane not a few moments after popping them.

"Better?" Maura questioned, tucking a lock of dark curls away from Jane's quickly slacking face.

"Uh huh," Jane slurred, eyelids already drooping.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Maura demanded gently.

"Hello?" Jane said in her best "duh" voice. This coupled with her near inability to actually speak was quite amusing. "I was getting to the bottom of a case." She gestured wildly at Maura.

The M.E. chuckled. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yea. I'm a _damn _good detective."

"Yes, you are," agreed Maura, smiling affectionately. She helped Jane to her feet. "C'mon, detective, time for bed."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Despite this demand, Jane calmly obliged.

"You are ridiculous," Maura told her.

"Yea, but you love me," Jane countered.

"You're right."

"Of course I am!"

"Get in the bed, Jane."

"That's Detective Rizzoli to you!"

"_Jane_."

"Yea, okay."


	6. Linger

**Chapter 6**

"Maura?"

Maura looked up from her book. Jane had gone to get changed a while ago, insisting she needed to wear something other than sweatpants. Maura had gone to get up, and Jane had gotten frustrated, shouting that she could do it herself. Now, Maura looked at the clock. That was a half an hour ago, to be exact.

"Coming, Jane," she called, trying to stay calm. She didn't bother to mark her place, tossing the book onto the couch and hurrying to the guest room. When she pushed open the door, there was Jane, jeans around her ankles, arms entangled in her t-shirt, elbows bent, body hunched. Maura started to giggle.

"Help, _please," _moaned Jane, stopping Maura's giggles. "It hurts."

"Oh, oh, oh," gasped Maura in hurried sympathy, rushing over. She gently grabbed the hem of Jane's shirt and pulled it down the rest of the way. It was soft cotton, so it wouldn't agitate her wound, and Jane sighed greatly in relief when she could lower her arms.

"Hurts to lift 'em," she explained. "Um… m-my jeans too. I… I didn't realize how many things pull on your abs when you do them."

"You need your abs for lots of things," Maura said casually, kneeling in front of Jane. She grabbed the jeans and slowly worked them up, being careful not to jar the detective. In doing this, she got a very nice, very close up view of the detective's body, causing her face to flush. As she came face to face with Jane, they were close. Very close, and Maura felt hot. They stared into each other's eyes. Jane was blushing furiously. They breathed each other's breath as Maura zipped and buttoned Jane's pants. Once they had been securely fastened Jane smiled and breathed "Thanks, Maura."

"Of course," Maura whispered, and found it hard to use her voice. She leaned closer. Their noses mashed.

And then, slowly, gently, they kissed.

It was sweet. It was beautiful. It was everything Maura imagined. She smiled against Jane's lips. Jane's hands moved, on to her face, one to her back. Her thumbs stroked and Maura shivered. Then suddenly, Jane trembled and pulled away.

"I'm suh-sorry, I… need to sit down." She gingerly lowered herself onto the bed, legs quaking.

And as the sun blazed through the bedroom window, the two were left staring at one another, wondering what they'd just done.


	7. That Rizzoli Determination

**Chapter 7  
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They didn't talk about it.

Instead, it became routine. Maura would get up in the morning, take her shower, and subsequently Jane would rise as the M.E. was doing her hair. When Jane was ready, they'd make for the bathroom in silence. Maura would help a blushing Jane into the tub, and a half hour later lift an exhausted Jane back out. Maura would then take a fluffy white towel to the unruly black curls, ruffling them even more.

First came the bra. Jane would turn her back, and Maura would fasten the bra. Then, Maura'd pick out a shirt for Jane, and Jane would lift her arms as much as she could so Maura could shimmy it over the detective's head. As the shirt came down, she'd be extra careful not to jar Jane's still-sensitive wounds. If it were a button-down shirt, Maura would still do all the buttons for her (even though Jane was sure she could do them herself) and smooth the collar.

Next came the pants. Jane was getting better and could manage to pull on a loose-fitting pair of boxer shorts, but pulling jeans on over them was still a struggle. And so Maura would pull them up, painstakingly slow, as if enjoying herself. And as she'd be buttoning and zipping them, their noses would mash and they would kiss.

But they didn't talk about it. It was like their own personal secret, their own haven to which they escaped every morning; the closeness, the loving touches, the shared breath. They lived for it now. Now that they had it, they could not imagine life without it.

"What time is your physical therapy appointment today?" Maura wondered around the rim of her coffee mug as Jane picked at the egg-white omelet the M.E. had prepared.

"Noon. I don't _wanna _go," Jane announced, fork _scritching _against the plate as she emphasized this fact with a small tantrum. Maura smiled at the childish move.

"You must, Jane. It is conducive to your recovery-"

"The therapist _smells weird_."

"Jane!" Maura scolded, but it was with a light chuckle. Inwardly, however, she knew that there was more depth to the reason why Jane disliked physical therapy. She had simply yet to figure it out.

"What? It's true," Jane grumbled, shoving a forkful of egg white into her mouth. Maura tried to hide her pleased smile at the sight of Jane eating with gusto again. A Jane who didn't want to eat wasn't really a Jane at all.

"Tell you what. I'll drop you off, and when I come get you, we'll go to lunch. How's that?" Maura wheedled, aware of the fact that it sounded like she was bribing a child.

"I guess," huffed Jane, getting to her feet and lifting her empty plate. She gathered Maura's used breakfast ware as well and took them to the sink to wash. Maura observed with a small smile. She admitted she was in awe of the sight of Jane Rizzoli engaging in something so domestic.

She thought she might like to see that image more often.

In fact there were many images of Jane Rizzoli she'd have liked to see more often.

When Maura arrived to pick Jane up after 2 hours, she knew going out to lunch was out of the question.

"She pushed herself a bit hard today. She may experience some extra pain tonight as a result. Other than that, of course, your detective is making great progress!" the therapist was saying.

_Your detective._

Maura tried to ignore the way that made her feel.

"Jane?" she questioned, entering what was often referred to as the "walking room". It was generally used to train amputees to walk on their new limbs, but there was a small wooden staircase in the corner that Jane often struggled to climb as part of her sessions.

Jane just grunted from the chair she sat in, head in her hands.

"How many today?" inquired Maura, coming to kneel in front of the detective, bracing her hands on the arm rests. She was, of course, referring to how many stairs Jane had managed to climb today. The detective had been struggling to get past 2 for a few days now.

"Didn't even make it past one," the detective growled. Maura made a noise of sympathy and rubbed Jane's back, keeping to herself the fact that a setback was normal.

"Don't worry, you'll get there," soothed Maura. "Do you still want to go for lunch?"

"Can we just go home?" asked Jane, looking up. Maura's chest ached at the exhaustion and self-loathing she saw there.

"Of course. Come on," she urged, and helped heave Jane to her feet.

Maura made grilled cheese (Jane's favorite), but the detective hardly ate. Maura was concerned, but didn't think much of it.

Until she exited the bathroom to find Jane three steps into the staircase to the attic, panting and white.

"_Jane," _gasped Maura, rushing forward, "what on _Earth-"_

"No," growled Jane, "I'm going to make it all the way up. I just need a break…"

Her legs quivered beneath her, and Maura lunged for her, catching her under the arms. "Stop. Jane, stop," she grit out as she lowered them both to a safe sitting position on the stairs.

"God _dammit_," roared Jane, and the volume of her rage impressed and horrified Maura.

"I know," soothed the M.E. softly. "It's-"

"Leave," snarled Jane. "I have to. I have to do it, and I have to do it alone."

Maura stared at the detective's still pale face. She had half a mind to be upset, but she knew it wasn't personal. She could see by Jane's knit brows and burning eyes that she felt this was something she had to do, and Maura was powerless against that Rizzoli determination.

"All right," she murmured, standing slowly. "Okay. Call me if you need help. _I mean it."_

"Yea," said Jane fervently, and as Maura left she saw her grab the banister and heave herself up. She left just before Jane climbed the next stair.

She knew it went against her own medical judgment, but she decided to let it go because she also knew that this would be beneficial for Jane in a whole other way. If Jane could make it all the way up the stairs, maybe she'd feel capable again.

An hour later, she heard her name being called. She shot up from the couch and hurried to the stairs, panicked, frenzied.

But what she found made her smile. For there, sitting on the top step, was an exhausted but glowing Jane Rizzoli.


End file.
